


Moonlight

by Sunshine_lollipops_and



Series: Winter Light [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Protective Arthur, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_lollipops_and/pseuds/Sunshine_lollipops_and
Summary: Sequel to Sunlight. Arthur is a fool in love, and Merlin is... Merlin. Rated T for language.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Winter Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045561
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I enjoyed writing Sunlight so much that this absolutely flowed out. Thank you for all the lovely feedback, I hope to do it justice!

The water is colder than it was before. He didn't think that was possible. This time, everytime he reaches for Merlin, she slips further away, head tipped back in sleep, mouth open as if she is singing. The sun doesn't penetrate this far down in the lake, but he can still make out her face, her dress swirling around her. He reaches one more time, and his lungs burn from lack of breath and the failure of it all. She sinks further, further, her chest still, and then her eyes open, and pierce him.

_Gwaine would have saved me._

* * *

He bolts upright, panting. It's the third time he's had this dream, since... everything. Usually she only blames him, not... that.

The weeks following had been difficult, as Merlin rebuilt her lung capacity and endurance, and Arthur was kept constantly checking that she wasn't pushing herself too hard. Gaius warned him of the consequences of a relapse.

But enough time has passed now that she's as normal as ever, but Arthur can't seem to shake this irrational fear that one day she'll be lying on that island again, still and cold as Percival breathes artificially for her, or on the cot, exhausted by fever.

It's early, but Arthur can't get back to sleep, so he closes his eyes and pretends until he hears Merlin burst through the door with her usual lack of both grace and sensitivity to noise. He stares maybe a little too long, checking every inch of her body with his eyes, for any of injury. She's fine, of course, blabbering on about the Yule decorations and the banquet and the servants gossip. He tunes back in for-

"-and of course it's a shame I'll just be serving, but I can't wait to be there nonetheless. Gaius always saves me some leftovers from the banquet, and the-"

"Hang on," he interrupts, furrowing his brow against the torches she's lighting around the room, "what do you mean you'll just be serving?"

"I mean," she says, slowly, "that the servants rota has put me on duty that night, and I couldn't attend otherwise. Anyway, I was talking to-"

"But you're a senior in the household by now, surely?" He says, cutting through her tangent again. "I know father's person staff attend. You're the Crown Prince's personal maidservant. Doesn't that give you any sway?"

"Oh," she says, looking surprised, "I guess it does."

"There you go," Arthur finishes, reaching for his breakfast, "the steward can even give you a few silvers from the uniform allowance."

She grins broadly at him as she rummages in his wardrobe.

"Well I'll be there then, Sire," she laughs, like that's it.

He's just plucked up the courage to ask if she'll be going _with_ anyone, when she starts on about the council meeting he has to lead today. Damn.

* * *

"Lord Elrond, are you suggesting that one of my _knights_ is the sorcerer?"

The council meeting is going about as well as expected. His father is down in the dungeons interrogating the sorcerer _again_ (he almost pities him at this point) for the identity of the "other sorcerer behind Camelot's walls". Arthur's not convinced it's not a ploy to prolong the time before the sorcerer's execution, but others are more concerned.

Anyway. Back to the meeting.

Lord Elrond looks uncomfortable. The nobles learned long ago not to speak ill of Arthur's knights in his presence, common or noble, and this slip will land him some explaining.

"No, my Lord, I just mean that the sorcerer did not _specify_ what rank the traitor held, and yet the council seems to be focusing on the Lords."

And that's only because the Lords are who Tabard was close to, and likely to be working with.

"Would you like to interrogate every servant for magic also, Lord Elrond?"

"I think-" intercepts Lord Desmond, "that we must stay vigilant, and observant. Sorcery is not easy to hide."

"And yet I fear more may die by the hand of magic," Elrond calls out, "a desperate sorcerer commits desperate acts."

A few around the table murmur in assent.

"So you propose what, Lord Elrond?"

He has a migraine coming on. The strange look on Merlin's face probably means she's getting one too.

"I propose, my Lord, that we expand our search! Yes, question the servants, the knights! Or risk further casualties!"

Arthur sighs.

"Those in favour?" A narrow majority. Merry Yuletide, staff, now can we please interrogate you for magic?

"So be it," he says, resigned. "Lord Maurell, I leave it in your hands to comprise a list of staff. That concludes today's council."

The murmurs rise up again as he strides out, Merlin behind him.

* * *

"What's the matter with you today?"

Merlin hasn't said a word all morning, going about her tasks with worrying efficiency. There are deep bags shadowing her eyes.

"Oh I ah..." she fumbles her words, fidgeting with her hands and not meeting his gaze, "It's just that I have my interview today."

She looks at him.

"About the sorcerer."

"Oh well you can't," he says, "we have training before lunch, you can't miss it."

Something lights up in her eyes.

"I'll tell Lord Maurell. Like you needed questioning anyway."

She laughs, her shoulders falling in an excessive amount of relief as she turns back to her chores.

* * *

As is typical for December, the skies open the moment they step out for training. It bears down on them, grey and sleety, filling their boots and sitting like a sheen of ice on their skin.

They spend most of their time today sparring, taking it in turns to fight and then give eachother feedback.

He's just finishing discussing Leon and Elyan's duel with the knights, when he realises Gwaine is gone. He spins round, and spots him sitting with a freezing looking Merlin, arm around her shoulder.

Her eyes widen when she spots his gaze.

Gwaine claps her on the shoulder, making some quip inaudible over the rain, and strides back out to meet them.

"If you're quite finished fondling my maidservant, Sir Gwaine, I believe we are supposed to be _training."_

Gwaine grins.

"Well _someone_ has to keep the poor girl warm, and seeing as you're not up to the job..."

There's a round of sniggers from the knights.  
"I believe it's only you and I left to duel this morning, Sir Gwaine. Draw your sword."

They begin sparring. It's slow, spending minutes circling before a quick clash breaks it up. Back to circling.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He's about to lose himself in the movement, when he spots one last thing. Gwaine turns to Merlin, and gives her a _wink._

Arthur's face heats up, and something in his stomach catches fire.

He throws himself at Gwaine, bringing his sword down harder than he should in a training exercise with his own knight, but he finds that he doesn't care.

Gwaine's eyes light up. He always did love a challenge.

There are actual _gasps_ from the knights watching as metal meets metal, crashing out loud and clear against the rain. All Arthur can see now is Gwaine. He's laughing.

And then, Arthur makes a slash, but instead of parrying it like he's meant to, Gwaine feints to his right. The blade catches him directly across the chest. There's a split second, in which Gwaine looks up at him, suprise painted across his face, before he thuds to his knees, and then falls sideways. 

Merlin's there before he can take a step.

She throws herself down in the mud beside him, tearing strips from her dress and peeling back Gwaine's tunic to see the wound. Even he can tell it's bad - deep, and gushing, staining his chainmail a rusty red and the ground around him black.

Arthur moves in to help as Merlin begins tightly bandaging.

"No!" She shouts, eyes blazing, as she throws a hand back to keep him away, "get the fuck _away!_ Haven't you done enough?"

He stumbles back, shock stealing his voice. All her focus is already back on Gwaine.

He turns, and sees the faces of his men. Shocked. Hurt. It's too much.

He throws his sword down, and storms back to the palace. The sleet has turned to hail, hitting like tiny shards of glass. If he wasn't so- so- whatever he is, he'd be thinking about the ice that will be on the ground tomorrow. He passes Gaius on his way, flanked by guards with a stretcher. He doesn't stop.

Sodden and furious, he paces his chambers for some time. Numerous servants try to offer help undressing, or a bath, or any number of other stupid things. They leave quickly, when they see his face.

He needs to walk.

Throwing on an older cloak, he slips out of the room, the corridors now quiet, the lamps lit. The castle is deserted, save for the odd guard, and he's grateful not to face any questions as to why he's out so late still dressed in soaking chainmail. He strains his ears as he passes Gaius' quarters, hoping for any kind of sign that Gwaine is in fact fine, that it was only a shallow wound and that he will be back training in a week. He gets no such reassurances. Just as he turns the corner down the stairs, the door opens, and he spins round to see who it is. Shit.

Merlin is emerging, arms full of empty poltuce bottles. She's wearing the same dress, and it's half covered in blood. Gwaine's blood.

"Come to finish him off?" She snaps, pulling the door to behind her.

"Is he..?"

"He's alive, no thanks to you." She laughs bitterly, walking past him with purpose. "Only lost about a third of his blood. I hope you're happy."

He swallows, once again lost for words. He's never known her fury like this, always so quick to laugh and forgive. It's more terrifying than any magical creature or opponent he's ever faced.

She doesn't wait for a reply.

* * *

The clearing has always a place for Arthur to find peace in. Tonight, a circle of grass is bathed in the light of the full moon, illuminating the trees fencing off the clearing. Occasionally, clouds pass by, dropping him in darkness for a second or two. 

What was he thinking?

He wasn't. He hadn't thought, thought what could happen if he fought too hard, if he played too rough. Hadn't thought that Gwaine might miss a shot, might forget to defend his left. Hadn't thought that he really could kill his friend.

Because Gwaine _was_ his friend. He was funny, and selfless, and good. Until something ugly in the pit of his stomach started to see him as something else. A threat.

Because of course Merlin would choose Gwaine over Arthur. What comparison is there? What does Arthur have to offer, other than a title? (As if Merlin even cared about titles.) Nothing. Nothing at all. And Gwaine? Joyful, brilliant, brave, and everything someone like Merlin deserves. And now Arthur's gone and become some jealous, hovering bastard, and has turned that friendship (that both tore out his heart and kept his world turning) into hate. He has ruined yet another good thing. It's no wonder people stay away from him. Everyone he has ever loved is either dead, or wishes he were dead.

* * *

The castle even more silent when he returns. Maybe it's the new absence of hope that amplifies it.

He owes Merlin his apology, not that it means anything. She doesn't need his blessing: it's none of his business anymore.

* * *

The room is dark and still, and the creaking of the door makes him wince. He can make out an odd shape on the patient bed, and waits for his eyes to acclimatize to the low light before he moves.

Gwaine is lying there, flat on his back, and far too neatly laid out for it to be natural. Merlin is asleep too, sat in the chair, but her head resting on Gwaine's chest. Her breath whistles on the exhale through her nose. She must have a cold coming on. He turns to leave.

"Arthur?"

A weak imitation of Gwaine's voice calls out to him from the bed.

"Go back to sleep, Gwaine," he says stiffly, "I'm sorry for disturbing you."

"No, I-" he sighs, trying to sit up, but stopped by stiff bandages and Merlin's head. "I need to speak to you."

"Gwaine your injury is severe," he hisses, "and I should not be here."

Even in the dim light he can see Gwaine roll his eyes.

"Sit," He says firmly, "or do you owe me no debt?"

With a sigh, Arthur sits by his other side.

"Sir Gwaine I-"

"No. You speak later. I am so beyond pissed at you now, but I need to tell you this first. I love Merlin."

He knew it, but it still stabs him deep in the heart. It's a unique agony.

"You have my blessing, Gwaine, if that's what you want."

"No, you don't get it," he says, frustration evident, "I love Merlin, but not _like that._ And she feels the same."

"Pardon?"

A teasing smile breaks across his tired face.

"Merlin is my best mate. And I wondered did I love her, because I've never felt this way about a woman before. But I waited, and I realised that this is how _friendship_ feels, Arthur. It's no less important than romantic love. But it is different."

For the third time that day, Arthur finds himself speechless.

"So I think what you need to hear, is that you have _my_ blessing. But remember that I won't give you a free shot like this again."

And he's laughing, and Arthur can hardly believe it. He's being offered empathy and forgiveness in return for violent assault, and is being _reassured_ by a badly injured knight.

Suddenly it fully hits him, the dizzying magnitude of what he has done.

"Gwaine," he begins, "I don't know what came over me, I-"

He's waved down by a lazy hand.

"You're a lucky man, Arthur. Don't throw it away."

He nods, as Gwaine slips back under whatever potion numbs his pain.

The door creaks again as he closes it.

* * *

Merlin wakes him the next morning. Her jaw is set, and she neither speaks nor looks at him, but he can tell Gwaine's spoken to her. He's about to leave for training, when she stops him.

"Just so you know," she spits, "I am not a damsel in need of protection from every glance, and I am _not_ in need of defending _from my own friends._ Got it?"

He nods, meeting her hard gaze with as much apology as he can fit in his eyes.

She nods, and walks off.

Could've been worse.

* * *

She's... _controlled_ around him the next few days. And maybe it's fortunate that the Yuletide banquet is coming up, as she's roped into a lot of that stuff. Not to mention the downright absurd amount of time she spends with Gwen at the tailors, and all the extra help Gaius needs around this time with seasonal colds and fevers. But she seems to be warming to him as the nights get colder.

It's the night before the banquet when something occurs to him. She tending to the fire, humming to herself. It's the only source of light in the room, dancing off the walls, catching her figure in different shadows.

"Merlin, do you dance?"

She looks round, eyebrows raised.

"I don't make a habit of it. Why, are you starting a troupe?"

He ignores the slight.

"You'll have to dance. At the banquet. Unless you want to look like a fool."

Her eyes widen.

"I can't dance! Oh Gods I _asked_ Gwen if there was anything I needed to know before I agreed to-"

He rolls his eyes as he interrupts her.

"Merlin I am offering to _teach_ you."

Her mouth opens in suprise.

"Oh. Well, I mean, I- alright. If that's ok. Thank you."

"Well then," he says, suddenly completely panicking and regretting ever being born. "Come here and we'll start."

She puts down the fire tongs, and walks over. He realises how quiet it is all of a sudden, just the tap of her steps and the crackling fire.

"So obviously you'll be with a partner," he begins, trying to frame this in his mind as teaching a squire how to hold a sword, rather than teaching the girl he loves to dance.

"And a gentleman may approach you, maybe not, you are rather ugly,"

She cracks the first grin he's seen in days. He steels himself.

"And should you accept, you will then dance."

She rolls her eyes.

"I'd rather surmised as much."

"Well, I rarely have the misfortune of teaching someone as dimwitted as you, Merlin, so I struggled to know where to start."

"You struggle to know most things, Arthur, so don't worry your little head about it."

" _As I was saying._ You will then dance. So the gentleman will put his hand-" -he places his hand on her waist- "-here."

Something lights up inside him.

"-and you, the- well I suppose you're _supposed_ to be a lady, so you will put your hand-"

He guides her hand to his shoulder- "-here."

"Alright," she whispers, sounding rather breathless for someone standing still.

"Then you take my other hand, and we-"

"-dance?"

He catches her eye.

There's no rhyme or rhythm to it. They start with a jolty approximation of a quickstep, laughing as they step on each other's feet. Arthur goes for a twirl, and she throws her head back in a shriek of mirth as she spins under his arm. At one point, she trips over her own clumsy feet, and falls right into his chest. He freezes for a second, his brain unable to comprehend anything other than _Merlin is pressed up against me, laughing and smiling_ before turning it into a dip, and she arches back with an elegance he would never have expected from her.

Eventually, they trip into something slower, taking more and more time between each step until they're just swaying really. Arthur stops looking at his feet, and instead studies her face, like she's a painting. The flickers of the firelight shimmer across her face, illuminating the different planes. Her eyes gleam as she looks up, straight into his own eyes.

She's awfully close now, and Arthur can smell the herbs and florals that linger in her hair, see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes. He tucks a fallen strand of dark hair behind her ear, and she lets out a tiny laugh. She's warm between his arms.

He could spend forever here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Part two will be up soon, so let me know your predictions ;) xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fairly bloody bits in this one, so watch out if you're not about that stuff. Everyone else; enjoy the whump!

They stay like that for probably what is a completely improper and untoward amount of time, when suddenly they are plunged into darkness. The fire has gone out. 

Merlin clears her throat, pulling away with a reluctance, muttering about _early starts tomorrow_ and how _Gaius will be wondering where I am._

He lets her go, content to simply watch the swing of her skirt as she slips out the door. Gods, he is so beyond enchanted.

* * *

She doesn't attend to him this morning, which isn't unusual for the morning of the biggest celebration of the year. One of the tailors assistants will dress him properly for the evening, so it's unlikely he'll see her before the banquet. 

He drops in to see Gwaine sometime in the morning, who is alone in Gaius' chambers, stiffly but merrily practicing being vertical again. He gives a knowing smile when he sees Arthur enter.

"Ah, Arthur. Late night?"

"Umm, no Sir Gwaine. Wanted to be well rested for this evening. And yourself?"

"Well yes, actually," he grins. Shit, Arthur's gone and said the wrong thing, because Gwaine looks positively ecstatic.

"You see," he continues, "the cheeky maid that lives up those stairs stumbled in at some ungodly hour while I'm trying to get some rest, and when I ask her where in the five kingdoms she's been, she says, _heaven, Gwaine_ , all dreamy, like that, nothing like the Merlin _I_ know."

"Curiosity killed that cat, Gwaine." He says, but he's fighting a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"It's alright, Princess, I won't tell Gaius," he says with a wink, before suddenly looking serious. 

"Are you aware of how loud that man snores? It's like a-"

"Like a what, Sir Gwaine?" comes the voice, accompanied by a stern eyebrow, and Arthur takes that as his cue to escape.

* * *

The great hall is already packed when he arrives, the table laid out for at least a hundred men, half of which must be already milling around the table. He gets drawn straight into his mandatory socialising.

"Lord Dudley? How is your wife?"

"It is good to see you returned to such robust health, Lord Tabworth."

It continues for some time, until Arthur finds himself tugged by the elbow. It's his father.

"Arthur," he says, with a nod. He's got his people smile plastered to his face, but his eyes are twitching. "I have a matter to discuss, if you have a moment?"

The giggling Lady Julia hanging on his arm excuses him, and he follows his father through the thronging crowd, and out the double doors. 

"The sorcerer," his father says, looking distracted, "the guards alerted me. He escaped, in the last hour."

Arthur curses. So much for an enjoyable evening.

"Are the reserve guards stationed?"

"Yes, yes," he says distractedly, looking around as if the sorcerer could simply stroll down the corridor at any second. "All that can be done is done. I only wished to alert you."

"Thank you, father."

With a nod, his father turns back to the hall. He's about to re-enter himself, when two figures coming round the corner catch his eye.

The first is Gwaine, pale but proud in his formal wear, cloak matching Arthur's. He moves slightly stiffly, but he offers Arthur a signature roguish grin when he spots him. And on his arm...

God's forgive him, Merlin looks _radiant_. Her gown is a deep blue silk accented with silver, exposing delicate collarbone and ivory shoulder, her hair skimming the bare skin. She cracks a grin as she sees him.

"Your lordship!" She hollers, still as brash as ever. "Don't I scrub up well?" 

Gwaine waggles his eyebrows out of her line of sight as Arthur struggles for words. 

He musters the strength to roll his eyes and call her a clotpole. 

* * *

The banquet is a great success, the visiting nobles growing steadily merrier as the wine flows thinner. Hes hard-pressed to keep his focus on the guests around him. Merlin's seated far away from him, but he could pick her out at a thousand yards tonight. He finds himself almost openly staring some time after the final course, the conversation having livened to a more involved affair. He just drags his gaze away when his father stands to mark the beginning of the dancing. Oh Gods.

Contrary to how he presented it to Merlin last night, he's not a confident dancer. Not because of the physical aspect; a life of military training leaves you with little difficulty in coordinating your body and remembering moves. It's the political aspect. It's like the small talk before the banquet, except at double the speed and more drunk. Not making a faux-pas, not accidentally ignoring someone, not dancing with the wife of some jealous lord, not stepping on toes and causing a political incident... It's rather a lot for the crown prince. Not so much for Merlin, who dances cautiously in the presence of her king, but with reckless abandon in every other way. 

Arthur is whirled around for some time, smiling at lords and chatting with ladies, until finally he finds himself near Merlin. She's dancing with Leon now, who when he sees Arthur bows to her with a cheeky smile (ever the stickler for etiquette, but with a raucous streak of fun underneath). She shares some final joke with Leon, before she turns to Arthur.

"My lord?"

He's never seen her curtsey before, and he fights back a grin.

"My lady?"

He offers his hand. She takes it.

"Shall we?"

"Dance? I'd rather surmised as much."

For ten minutes, Arthur loses himself. They're both loose and merry, and it's like it's just him and Merlin, cracking jokes and tripping over eachother and being so _comfortable_ together. It occurs to Arthur that he's completely happy. He wants for nothing. And there is no place he'd rather be than wherever she is.

It comes to Arthur very simply. He wants to spend his life with this girl. And he wants her to be _his_ girl. Only one thing for it.

"Merlin, I-"

And then, damn him, his father is at his elbow. He doesn't mask his fear now.

" _Arthur_ ," he hisses, " _he's in the grounds. The sorcerer."_

"Father, stay here," he states. "Gather... what knights you can." Leon is pressed up rather close to a young princess. Elyan and Percival are clearly absolutely plastered, laughing raucously at the table. Gwaine has obviously (for the first time in his life) left the party early to rest. 

Alone it is then.

His father disappears back into the crowd. Arthur turns to go.

He's out the door and halfway down the palace stairs before he realises Merlin is at his side.

"Merlin what are you doing? Go back to the hall."

She smirks.

"And let you rip up that fine cloak? Fat chance."

He learned long ago not to try and change her stubborn mind, but this is really another level.

"Merlin, a battle is no place for a woman in a ballgown!"

"Says who?"

Her eyes blazing, hands on her hips, for one fleeting second she reminds him so vividly of Morgana, the Morgana of _before_ , that it hurts.

He swallows.

"Hurry up then! The sorcerer will have taken over Camelot and ruled for sixty years by the time we get there at this pace."

She grins.

* * *

The sorcerer is just flinging over the gates as they arrive, moonlight bathing the hills behind him silver, the ground at his feet glowing. Good thing they didn't ruin his dramatic timing, anyway. 

"Pendragon!" Lord Tabard shrieks, shrill and loud, but Arthur can hear the undertones of desperation. 

"You have oppressed the people of magic long enough! You will not relinquish your rule to us who know better, so we shall now do it for you!"

Arthur should be more concerned, and he is, with a madman wielding magic a hundred yards from him. But Gods he's heard this speech so many times.

Tabard raises an arm, and throws a ball of fire towards them. Arthur lunges for Merlin, knocking her out the way. It hits the ground, smoking. 

She stands back up again, brushing mud off her hands. She takes a very deep breath, and then looks him dead in the eye.

"Arthur," she whispers, "for what I must do next, I say I'm sorry, and that everything I have done is for you. Please don't hate me."

"Merlin what are you on about?"

Her face crumples, but there's a steely resolve in those blue eyes. She turns, and suddenly he recognises her as the girl who stood powerfully over Tabard's unconscious body in the great hall, weeks ago.

"Tabard, why didn't you leave while you had the chance?"

"Merlin what are you-"

"Leave?" he cackles, and it's a deep, rumbling thing. "Leave, when I am about to take my kingdom?"

"You could still go," she insists, "it's not too late for you to live anew."

"And yet it is," he hisses back, spittle flying through his teeth as he edges closer to Merlin. "For I have nothing left anymore. The Pendragons have made sure of that."

"Then this is goodbye, Lord Tabard." 

She takes a step forward, and Arthur us about to drag her behind him, away from the crazed murdering sorcerer, when she reaches out a hand to Tabard.

In a split second, her eyes flick to Arthur's with the greatest sorrow. Her eyes light up. Golden.

And then the grounds are filled with light

Firebolts and sparks and beams of light streak between them, only to be dodged at the last second, leaving sizzling ground where they had stood only split seconds before. She moves like she's dancing, but not like the dance they shared earlier, it's like the dance Arthur learned on the battlefield; light and deadly.

He beats down the part of him that is roaring at the magic she is so blatantly flaunting with concern, but it's clear she's gaining the upper hand. She has the air of an experienced knight, the focus and flair of one used to battle.

She lets out a scream, and something about it is deeper than the earth and greater than the sky. The ground begins to tremble, and it's then that a single fork of lightning strikes down from the heavens, directly on top of Lord Tabard.

The clear December night of a moment ago is gone, and suddenly a howling wind rises, the clouds opening with torrential rain. Thunder rumbles above them. 

It's then that he sees Lord Elrond. He's running out to meet them, eyes frenzied. 

"You _witch_!" He screams, falling to his knees at Tabard's side. "Camelot was to be ours, and you've killed him!"

Tabard's accomplis was... Elrond? Notoriously magic hating Elrond? Burn all the Druids Elrond?

Merlin looks genuinely upset, picking up her singed skirts to move towards him. She kneels beside him in the mud, and it's then that Arthur sees the glint of a dagger in the moonlight.

"Merlin, NO!"

But even as the words leave his mouth, Elrond has buried the knife in her chest, leaving only the jewelled hilt visible. She lets out a gasp.

With no hesitation, he sprints the few feet over to the two of them, drawing his sword as he moves, then driving it through, and out the back of Elrond's neck. He gives a strangled gargle, before keeling over, dead.

"Merlin?"

He crashes to his knees beside her, and she lists immediately into his arms.

"Guards? GUARDS?"

"Arthur..." she gasps, struggling for breath. "I'm so sorry, I-"

"No, no, no, Merlin," he blabbers, trying to staunch the bleeding, "stay with me,"

"-wanted to tell you, always," she wheezes, looking him dead in the eye, one hand rising shakily to cup his face. "I do it for you,"

"Tell me now," he says, swallowing, "tell me,"

"Arthur," she whispers, "I have magic."

"Merlin," he says, and he's crying, "I love you."

He leans down, and though both their tears they kiss. The rain beats down, and screams are beginning to sound from the great hall, but all that he has in this moment in time is her, and she's _real_ , and _alive_ , and she's finally _his_. She tastes of summer fruits and woodsmoke, and the hand at the back of his head is as desperate as it is passionate. Like it's their last kiss.

He pulls away just as the hand falls down. Her gaze blinks at the moon, before resting on his face with a smile.

"Forever, Arthur," she whispers, "I am forever yours."

And then her eyes close.

"Merlin?" he chokes, pulling her closer and giving her a shake. "Merlin answer me!"

The people are drawing closer. 

"Merlin you're scaring me! Please!"

She lies still. A bubble of blood bursts between her lips. 

"No!" He sobs, burying his face in her hair. "You can't go! We've got so much left to _do!"_

And then, as has been the fashion for him lately, words fail. He turns to the sky, and all that comes out is a guttural scream, harsh and scraping, absorbed into the dark sky.

* * *

Things happen quickly after this. Gaius arrives, and Arthur scoops up her small body, to follow him back to his chambers. His father has succeeded in keeping the crowds busy in the hall; he catches a glimpse of a drunkenly ruddy face peeking through a window, and that's it. Guards are dealing with two bodies, so the hallways are clear.

With sickening déjà-vu, he lays her out on the patient bed, as Gaius pulls more bottles than he thought were in the world down from shelves. While he searches through labels, Gwen bursts in with two buckets of steaming water, one of which she hangs over the fire, the other she brings to Merlin's side. She allows herself to take a single moment to touch Merlin's lax face in grief and horror, before attempting to school her face in the same way Gaius and Merlin can when faced with a patient. Her eyes are too sad.

After what feels like far too long, Gaius turns to Merlin himself. 

He and Gwen work in practiced, unspoken tandem, cutting the beautiful dress with a knife to expose the wound, nestled just below her collarbones. Arthur looks away as they strip her to her undergarments, before laying a sheet across her, drawing it up to just below the wound. 

Gaius sets down the knife.

"We must remove the dagger, disinfect the wound, and staunch the bleeding," he says, in his usual matter-of-fact tone. Arthur's surprised as her addresses him as equally as he does Gwen. He seems to catch the shock.

"Arthur, if it's possible, I'd ask that you stay. We may need someone with a little more strength than Gwen or I at some point."

He nods.

"Thank you. Please place your hands on Merlin's shoulders. She will feel this. We must move quickly once the blade is removed, so Gwen be ready to pack, and have the saline and honey to hand. I'm not certain yet if this will need suturing. Everyone ready?"

He places his hands firmly on her shoulders, but surely she's far too deeply unconscious at this point?

She's not.

Gaius removed the jewelled hilt in one smooth, fluid motion. Immediately, Merlin bucks under his hands, making a strangled scream that will haunt his dreams for many years to come. 

He presses down harder, as Gwen begins staunching the massive bleeding pouring from her chest, Gaius examines it as she works. Merlin shifts uneasily, pain creased in her forehead and between her eyes.

"I'm going to stitch," he says decisively. "Gwen, if you could sterilise?"

She nods, guiding Arthur's hands press down on the gauze on Merlin's chest. She gives a weak moan when he makes contact, blood leaking onto his hands. Gwen takes a small tray of equipment over to the fire, holding it with tongs to grow red hot in the flames. While she waits, Gaius uncorks a bottle, holding it far from his face as he drenches a cloth in its contents.

"I'd hoped not to need to," he says, "but I am not so cruel as to stitch such a wound without prior sedation. If you would hold this over her mouth and nose, Sire? Watch that you don't inhale any yourself."

He takes the rag from Gaius' hand, and perched on the edge of the bed lifts Merlin's head in his hand so he can hold it gently over her face. As Merlin slowly stills, Gaius begins to remove the gauze from her chest, smearing the wound with yet another foul smelling poultice. There's a hiss from the fire as Gwen cools the equipment, and then presents it to Gaius.

"You can remove the cloth now, Arthur," he says, as he selects a curved needle from the tray, "stand out of the way now."

He steps back, depositing the cloth on the table with the bloodies bandages and her ruined dress. Gaius swoops down like a vulture, armed with his needles and tweezers and god knows what. He obscures his view of Merlin for the next ten minutes or so, as he cranes over her with the utmost concentration. Gwen begins handing bottles and bandages and a variety of sweet and bitter smells reach him. Eventually he steps back, revealing swathes of pristine wrappings around Merlin's chest. It's so neat and clean. Like she never got stabbed at all. "Arthur, if you'd do one last thing for me?"

He nods silently, stepping forward.

"Just sit her up- yes, that's perfect, I just want to get some fluids into her."

He leans her upper body against his chest, supporting her head as Gaius pours a cup of water, followed by several options into her mouth, massaging her throat in-between each one to make her swallow 

"That's it, Merlin, that's it."

He smiles, like a father teaching his daughter to walk for the first time. 

He lays her back down when Gaius is done, but stays sat on the bed, her head in his lap. He can't quite bear to be anything but close to her at present. Gaius heaves a sigh.

"That's about all I can do, Sire, but Merlin has bounced back from worse with no complications. Would you like to stay the night?"

He nods, finding himself fighting the rising bile in his throat as he spots how bloodies the front of Gaius' apron is, and then in turn seeing the once- white sheet draped over Merlin and then _oh Gods_ all over himself. Gwen moves to change the sheet just in time for him to become re-acquianted with his dinner. His aim is sound, however, and it lands in one of the buckets that had hell sterile water. Gwen gives a motherly tut as she passes him some water to drink, and passes him a fresh tunic as Gaius smiles to himself, clearly used to non-physicians losing control of their stomachs when in contact with his line of work.

"Get some rest, Arthur." He says, leaving the room, Gwen behind him with the waste.

He doesn't need telling twice. He slides down to his back on the small cot, drawing Merlin gently towards him.

He's out like a light.

* * *

There's a small hand in his hair when he wakes.

"Hello."

The slurred whisper is barely audible.

She's lying as she did last night, one arm reached up to twirl strands of his hair. Her pupils are blown wide from painkillers, her hair like a crows nest, her skin pale and her lips blue, but to him she's never been more beautiful. 

He cranes his neck, and plants a kiss on her forehead.

"How do you feel?"

She groans softly, and her eyes slide shut again. Strong sedatives.

The sun is up, the glass bottles on Gaius' shelf glittering in the light. Gaius seems to have already left for his rounds, but Arthur doesn't care about anything much now. Near death tends to put things in perspective.

One more kiss on her forehead. He's warm in the arms of the girl he loves. He lets himself return to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a blast writing this - I hope you enjoyed reading it half as much! Should probably just disclaim that I know NOTHING about medicine or surgery or anything like that (and however hard j try to research, I'm equally clueless with historical accuracy!) so please excuse that, or educate me! Thanks so much for reading, all the best! Xxx


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